


You Have Missed This

by apliddell



Series: The Very Best of Times [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Johnlock, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff, John moves back into 221B, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post Mary, Post S3, Sherlock Plays the Violin, teeniest wee bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John moves back into 221B. John and Sherlock are incredibly happy together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tomorrow, tomorrow! I love ya tomorrow! You’re only a day away!

You love me today as well, I believe.  
-SH 

At least you said you did this morning.  
-SH 

And I’m not a day away. I’m right now.  
-SH 

Of course I love you today. 

It’s a song. I meant I’ll be all properly moved in tomorrow. I was just being silly, sweetheart.

I like it when you call me that.  
-SH 

I know you do. 

Are you looking forward to tomorrow?

Is there going to be more singing?  
-SH 

Could be if you like, I suppose. 

I’m looking forward to never spending another night apart from you again, John.  
-SH 

I’m looking forward to that as well. There have already been too many of those. Far too many. 

No more.  
-SH 

It’s the end of an era.  
-SH 

Yeah, exactly. Long awaited end of a rubbish era.

...

Beginning of an Era

I’ve finally caught some clever after a good long stretch of stupid. If you know me, you probably know what I’m about to say next. I’m delighted to announce that I’m going home. Back to Baker Street. Best home I’ve ever known, because I share it with Sherlock Holmes, the most important person in my life. 

Much as I’d missed it before, I think I didn’t fully feel what I’d lost until I knew I could come back. It’s like I’m coming out from underground, about to see the sun again for the first time in years. If all you baddies out there just felt a chill run down your spines, it’s because your days on the streets are numbered. 

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are together again. 

Comments (24):

Sherlock Holmes:  
Thank you, John. I’m very nearly moved. Looking forward to having you back. 

John Watson:  
Steady on now. Don’t drown a man in flattery and sentiment :)

Sherlock Holmes:  
I shall try and contain myself. :)

Mike Stamford:  
Well well well! What’s all this?

Sherlock Holmes:  
Isn’t it obvious?

Mrs Hudson:  
Ooh lovely! Sherlock, dear, help me get the hoover up the stairs. It’s an inch thick in dust up there, and you’ll want to have it nice and tidy and aired out before John gets here. 

John Watson:  
Actually we won’t be needing two rooms, Mrs H.

Harry Watson:  
ARE YOU DATING SHERLOCK, JOHN????

Sherlock Holmes:  
Socialising is not my strongest suit, but isn’t it considered rather peculiar for adults to share a bedroom when they are not involved in a romantic relationship?

John Watson:  
Yeah, you lot really need things spelling out for you, don’t you?

Sherlock Holmes:  
Now you know how I feel every minute of every day. 

Molly Hooper:  
Are you two going to be condescending in unison now?

John Watson:  
Is that new?

Sherlock Holmes:  
It really isn’t. 

G Lestrade:  
Well finally! Talking of baddies, there was something I wanted you to have a look at. 

Sherlock Holmes:  
Not this week. John and I are busy. 

Harry Watson:  
Busy shagging!!!

John Watson:  
Take it down a notch, Harry. 

Sherlock Holmes:  
We weren’t looking for suggestions, actually. We have it all quite in hand. John, what’s the name of those horrible things you like?

John Watson:  
...be more specific. 

Sherlock Holmes:  
Those disgusting artificial sausages you like. Which brand is it? I’m doing the shopping.

John Watson:  
Linda McCartney. And they aren’t disgusting! Get the rosemary ones. Are you at our usual place? I’ll meet you. I’m headed that way. I’ll help you bring everything home.

Sherlock Holmes:  
Nice to have a big strong man around the house. See you shortly, then. Mind you don’t peep in the trolley. I’m planning things. 

John Watson:  
Oh, I do like things :) See you in two tics. That’s my cue, all. N’night. 

 

…

I found Sherlock in an otherwise empty aisle gazing at a display of cereal. 

“Hiya,” I said, as I sidled up to him. 

Sherlock nodded and leaned over to kiss the side of my head. “Redundant,” he muttered. 

I smiled at the kiss, “What’s redundant?”

“All this,” he gestured to the cereal. “It’s just variations in texture on corn, wheat, rice, oats, and sugar. What’ve there got to be so many varieties for? I don’t even know anyone who actually eats cereal. I think it may be one of those things that exists to be ignored. Like boiled sweets or terms and conditions notices.”

I grinned, “Food is just different ingredients mixed together. What’ve there got to be so many varieties for?”

Sherlock grinned as well and nudged me, “Shut up. Do you still hate porridge?”

“Loathe it.”

“Then we’re all finished here. Hello,” Sherlock turned to me with an eager little grin and pecked me on the cheek. “That was a rubbish hello just now, wasn’t it? Sorry.”

“I liked it all right,” I rubbed his arm. “Hello. Have you missed me?” 

Sherlock smiled and pressed a hand to his heart, “With every fibre of my being, John.”

I laughed, “Here I am. Shall I push the trolley?”

“Mmnope, you’ll just use it as an opportunity to snoop. I’ll push. You be ornamental and save your strength for bag toting in a bit.” 

I laughed, “Have you missed lunch? Looks like you’ve got half the shop in there. Can’t think why; all you eat is toast and eggs.” 

Sherlock looped one arm through mine, “You’re my boyfriend; I’ve got to feed you up.” He glanced at me, “That’s what people do, isn’t it?”

I grinned and grinned, “Yes, just so.” I petted his elbow, “So you cook, and you’ve been keeping it secret, eh?”

Sherlock rather tossed his head, “Cooking only involves triggering a relatively simple series of chemical reactions, John. I can’t imagine what I’ve ever done to suggest it’s beyond me.”

“All right, then,” I really couldn’t get myself to smile less. “A normal thing Sherlock likes.”

“I’m a real boy,” Sherlock said sardonically, but he laughed when I laughed. 

“Mmm, do I get to put things in the trolley? Or am I too ornamental?”

“Oh put anything you like in the trolley, John. Even cereal.” 

…

It was finer out when we’d finished our shopping than I’d remembered. Dazzling puffs of white and grey and lavender clouds with clear blue scraps of sky between. It made me feel quite romantic to look at it. Well, more probably it was the company. 

Sherlock glanced over at me as we walked, his eyes landing repeatedly on my hands. As if he might catch hold of one of them, if he could. But we both had arms full of bags, so he contented himself with walking very near me and brushing his shoulder against mine. 

As we rounded the corner onto Baker Street, Sherlock scoffed up at the sky. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Just.” He shrugged, “Even the sky is better with you, and I can’t imagine how you could possibly make the sight of suspended water vapour more charming. Or charming at all full stop and using only your presence.” He shook his head and scoffed again. 

I laughed, “That’s a song, I think. A love song.”

Sherlock tried to hide a smile, “Is it?”

“Well, if it isn’t, it ought to be,” I said. 

“I think I’ll leave that to you, John.” Sherlock nudged me with his shoulder against mine and kissed my temple, “Poetry is so much more your area.” 

I raised my eyebrows, “Mm, is that a compliment?”

“You may call them all compliments, John. I’m sure they’re all said with…”Sherlock coughed a little and trailed off.

I smiled, “Quite right, too. And double for me.” 

At the foot of the outer stairs, I paused and stooped to prop one of my bags against my shins so that I could dig out my house keys. I hadn’t been so nervous and excited to see Baker Street in years. Sherlock and I let ourselves in and paused in the entryway before we went up to our flat. Neither of us spoke, but a look of warm understanding passed between us. I ascended into my new old home with something like butterflies fluttering in my middle.


	2. Chapter 2

“You cleaned!” I said with a grin, looking round at Sherlock as he came up the stairs behind me. 

“I tidied,” he said carelessly, kicking the door shut behind us and going through to the kitchen to set down the bags. I followed, then popped back out to the sitting room to hang up Sherlock's coat and my jacket. When I entered the kitchen again, Sherlock was putting away the shopping. 

“Wine, I think, John,” he called over his shoulder. “I got that one you like,” Sherlock gestured to a bottle and a pair of glasses on the worktop, and I rummaged for the corkscrew. Sherlock lined up ingredients for our evening meal on the worktop as he put the other food away. When everything was properly stowed, Sherlock whipped a rather frilly apron out of a drawer and tied it on. I grinned, and he raised his eyebrows, “Is something amusing you, John?”

“Nothing at all. Pink daisies suit you; you ought to wear them more often.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled, “Asters, John, for heaven’s sake. Haven’t I taught you anything at all?” 

“Oh a bit, certainly.” I poured the wine and nudged Sherlock’s glass toward him, “Anything more you have to tell me about pink asters, I’m game.” I watched him bustle about, chopping up veg into a pan and popping a mushroom tart into the oven to warm. When he’d finished, he settled into the seat next to me and took a proper sip of his wine. “Look at you all domestic,” I grinned and took a sip of my own wine. 

Sherlock hid his smile in another sip, “A man’s got to eat,” he said. 

“I’ll drink to that,” I raised my glass, and he tapped mine with his. “A man’s got to eat.” 

...

After we’d finished our meal, Sherlock and I brought the bottle of wine out to the sofa to get comfortable. 

“Mmm,” I stretched my legs out in front of me. “I still can’t believe you cooked me dinner.” 

Sherlock smiled into his glass, “Well John, you can be in charge of breakfast.” He looked up at me and crooked an eyebrow. 

I sort of giggled, “Sherlock, was that an innuendo? Are you flirting with me?”

Sherlock coloured and laughed, “Yes, always John. It’s what I do.” 

“Another normal thing Sherlock likes, eh?”

“Indeed. I do hope you’re keeping count of these. Boyfriend duties, you know.” 

I grinned foolishly, “Boyfriend.”

“Is that all right?” Sherlock asked, a little line of concern appearing suddenly between his eyebrows. “I suppose one generally asks first.”

I set my glass aside and kissed his cheek, “Of course it’s all right. I just wouldn’t have expected you to like that word somehow.”

Sherlock reached for my hand.“John,” he said patiently, “I’m in love with you.” 

I thought the ends of my smile would meet round the back of my head, “I’m in love with you too, smartarse.” 

Sherlock stroked my palm with his thumb. “You should probably kiss me or something,” he said with false carelessness. His s’s were getting soft with drink. I hadn’t noticed it before. I kissed his lisp. Stroked the back of his neck, his hair. Sherlock sighed the sweetest little sigh and drew back, “I want to give you something John. May I give it now?”

I licked my lips, “Of course you can.” My voice rasped a little, and I cleared my throat. I was quite surprised when Sherlock stood up. He crossed the room and picked up his violin. Sherlock drew a deep breath, then nodded and turned toward the window. He shouldered his violin, then began to play looking out onto the street. I got a bit teary as I listened to Sherlock's music. I don’t mind saying. More than once as I watched him sway in time with his song, I had to dab my eyes on my shirt cuff. When he was finished with the piece, Sherlock stood, clutching his violin to him. He held his bow aloft until the last reverberations of the last note faded completely from the air leaving behind a tingling silence. Finally Sherlock lowered his bow and turned to me, his delighted smile softening as he looked at me. 

“That was beautiful,” I said when I could trust myself to speak steadily. “That was marvellous.” Sherlock coloured with pleasure at the compliment and made a little bow, ducking his head to guard his expression. He turned away for a moment to tuck his violin into its case, then joined me on the sofa. Sherlock made as if to lay his head on my shoulder, then hesitated. Since I couldn’t think of anything I’d like better, I put my arm round him and drew him closer. With a sigh, Sherlock dropped his head onto me. 

I stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head, “Do I know that one? I could almost swear I do. Bits of it anyway. That’s you, isn’t it?”

Sherlock leaned more heavily against me and shifted to rest his head on my chest, “I composed it, yes." He was still lisping, "You will have heard bits of it before, I think. It’s yours. That is, I’ve been making it for you for some time now. I drew on it in. Other pieces.” He coughed a little and fidgeted with one of my shirt buttons. 

I thought about that, “The waltz.” 

Sherlock hummed noncommittally, “You were doing something rather wonderful to my hair a moment ago. Maybe you could-ah, yes excellent. You’ve read my mind.” He shut his eyes like a happy kitten and tucked his face against my chest. 

“You made that for me?”

“I did.” 

“Sherlock?” I scratched his head. 

“Mmm?” 

“How long is some time?”

Sherlock didn’t open his eyes, “About five years.”

“Five years?”

Sherlock nodded eyes still shut, “About five years yes, I think so. I’d been working on it for some time before I exactly realised it was you er. Bringing it out of me. I used to play bits of it to stop you going up to bed, when I wasn’t ready to see you off for the night. You liked it. You seemed to like it.”

“It’s gorgeous.” I brought my cuff to my eye again, grateful that Sherlock wasn’t watching me, “Sherlock, can I kiss you? Would that be all right?”

Sherlock opened his eyes at that, “Of course, John. Please assume that I want as much kissing as you can manage.” 

“As much as I can manage, eh?” I kissed him, and he sighed softly through his nose. “You’re not worried that might turn out to be rather a tall order?”

Sherlock put his hand on my shoulder and drew me a bit closer to kiss me, “Are you offering me the opportunity to test my hypothesis?” I ducked my head and bit my lip to hold in a giggle, but it didn’t fool Sherlock, “Are you laughing at me, John?”

“No!” I cleared my throat and shook my head. “No, not at all. Of course not. I was ha. I was just thinking you’re really good at flirting.” 

“Mmm, flattery will get you everywhere.” Sherlock leaned back and tugged my sleeve to draw me nearer. 

I obligingly pressed right up against him, “So. As your boyfriend, I have been keeping up the list of things you like, actually. But I was hoping to update it a bit this evening. A bit more than I have already.” 

“Oh were you?” Sherlock’s voice was lower and softer than usual, despite his casual words. 

“I was. And what do you suppose I’ve added to it?” Sherlock’s voice seems to come from deeper inside him than anyone else’s sometimes. I wanted to feel it. 

I did feel it a bit when Sherlock spoke again, “I suppose you’re going to tell me. Isn’t that part of the seduction?”

I laughed, “Got me all worked out, eh? I did already know you like being clever. And you like this too, don’t you?” I leaned in a bit more and brushed his nose with mine, almost but not quite touching my lips to his. Sherlock breathed warm against my mouth for a second, then kissed me. “...mmmmmm I thought so. And you like this?” I cupped his face in my hand and kissed his cheek, then along to his jaw. Under my little finger, I could feel his pulse speed. 

Sherlock cleared his throat, “I do.”

“It’s on the list,” I told him. “What about this?” I dotted my tongue against his earlobe. “Hmm? And this?” I kissed his neck below his ear, his throat, his quickening pulse. His breath came faster, gusting the hair on the top of my head. 

“Yes, John. I-I. Yes. Ahh mm, John?”

I kissed his throat right beside his adam’s apple and stroked his chest, “Yes, Sherlock?”

“That-oooh mmm-that feels marvellous, but ah-”

I halted my kissing and sat up “But?”

Sherlock looked a little sheepish, “That position hurts my chest. The pressure.”

“Oh!” I moved back to let him sit up. “Sorry!”

“Erm.” Sherlock shut his eyes and drew a long breath, “Maybe you’d like to move into the bedroom. Then we can ah. Stretch out. More. Comfortably.” 

“Oh,” I nodded and licked my lips. “Yeah, definitely. Let’s stretch out.” 

I followed Sherlock into the bedroom, and he shut the door behind us and switched on a floor lamp. 

“I’ll just.” In lieu of finishing his sentence, Sherlock sat down on the big white bed and began to untie his shoes. 

“Oh yeah. Me er. Me too.” I pulled my jumper off and dropped it on a chair then looked over at Sherlock. He was unbuttoning his cuffs and he smiled when I caught his eye, “Can I help with that?”

Sherlock laughed a slightly shaky laugh and turned toward me, “And you call me the romantic.”

“I don’t think I have, but I’ve definitely meant to.” I untucked his shirt and began to unbutton it, starting from the bottom. “And to my mind this is practical.” I nudged the shirt off his shoulders and slipped on hand up under his tee shirt, “I’m not going to be able to see you until I’ve got you undressed. Am I, gorgeous?” I leaned in to kiss him.

“Wait, wait!” Sherlock said suddenly, tugging at the hem of his tee shirt, one hand rubbing at his rib cage. “Could we put the light out first?”

“Of course we can,” I stroked his arm. Gooseflesh rose under my fingers, and I stroked harder, “If it will make you more comfortable.”

Sherlock shivered at my touch and leaned into it, “It’s just that.” He paused, lowering his chin to his chest, “I’m. Not very nice to look at anymore. Undressed. I just. I don’t want the bad things intruding.” He swallowed, his eyes still downcast, and I thought my heart would break. I wouldn't let her take this from us, too.

“Oh Sherlock,” I leaned in and kissed his cheek, hugged him. “When I look at you, I don’t see the bad things. I see you. The man I love. Okay?”

Sherlock nodded without raising his head, “Okay.”

I pulled my own shirt off over my head and tossed it away, “Neither of us are a jumble of the miserable bits of our lives. We’re more than that, yeah?” I took one of his hands in mine and kissed his fingertips, then raised it to my scarred shoulder. 

Sherlock looked up at that. His eyes were bright. He swallowed again, and his fingers flexed. “How does that feel, John? Does it hurt?” He stroked the pink whorl on my shoulder, his eyes fixed on my face. His expression was as intent as it’s ever been but so sweet and gentle. A lover, not a scientist. 

“No, my love. It doesn’t hurt.” 

Sherlock kissed my scar so tenderly that my eyes stung and spilled. I stroked his hair, and he kissed me again and again and again. We undressed each other and laid down on the bed, nose to nose. Just to take each other in. To start to learn each other over again in the dark and the quiet and the private of our bedroom. 

I couldn’t say for sure who started it up again, but it made me wish that I could record it. That I had a mind palace like Sherlock does where I could save it all. All of Sherlock’s flushing, responsive skin under my hands and mouth. The thud of his heartbeat as it sped up with mine. The deep, soft murmurs of pleasure and surprise when I touched him just so. The smell and taste of him. His delicate hands on my body. I wished. I wish that I could lock it all up inside me and keep it safe forever.

That night we drifted off to sleep clasped together. Skin to skin and breathing in unison. Like nothing could ever come between us again.


	3. Chapter 3

I woke in the gloom of early morning, with Sherlock’s head pillowed on my chest, a few tendrils of his curls tickling my face. I smoothed Sherlock's hair down and was rewarded with a little rumble of surprise and interest from him that I felt in my own chest. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” Sherlock’s voice was raspy with sleep. “At last. Good morning, John.”

I smiled, “Good morning. What time is it?” 

Sherlock lifted his head to solicit a kiss and waited for me to kiss his chin before he cleared his throat and answered me, “Just gone seven.”

“Plenty early in my opinion. Have you been waiting for me long?”

Sherlock stroked my chest. “Long enough,” he said demurely. “The movers will be here in three hours, and I want to laze about with you a good bit before we’ve got to be decent.” 

“Lazing about sounds lovely. And if I remember correctly, I’ve been put in charge of the breakfast. Want to get up and have that? Are you hungry?” I pet the curls on the back of his neck, and he leaned into my touch with a hum of enjoyment. 

“Mmmm not yet, John. Let’s stay here for a bit. Now, I’ve no experience whatever with pillow talk, but I suspect it’s going to be another of those normal things I like. Got your list handy?”

I laughed, “Got it all up here, love.” I tapped my temple. 

“Well keep careful account, John. I may quiz you later. Boyfriend duties and all. Wouldn’t do to have you lying down on the job.”

“Mmm, like I am right now, you mean?” I patted his back. 

“Not at all. Being underneath me when I want to recline is another boyfriend duty, so you’ll find that some lying down is not actually lying down.”

I laughed, “God, I adore you.” 

“I know. It’s how I get away with being so horrible all the time.” 

“Never horrible,” I kissed his hair.

Sherlock tucked his face against my chest so that I couldn’t see his expression, “I shall probably have to remind you that you said that one of these days.” 

“Doubt it,” I kissed his hair again. Sherlock didn’t answer, only pet my chest pensively. I cuddled him a bit closer, “Do you know what I think, Sherlock?”

“Often, though not as often as I’d like. You should talk more.” 

“I’ll do my best. More boyfriend duties?”

Sherlock shrugged, “Call it what you like. I notice you haven’t given me any.”

I smiled and kissed his hair, “I suppose I hadn’t thought about it. I never really had a boyfriend before.” 

“Mmm. Nor have I. Think it over. I’m eager to be put to use, John.” 

“Honestly you keep doing everything I want you to do before I even think to ask you. You’re that good, I guess.” I hugged him. 

Sherlock raised his head in surprise, “Really? Such as?”

“Mm, cooking our dinner. Playing me lovely things on the violin. Going all sentimental and sweet about our past. Being really surprisingly incredibly snuggly.”

Sherlock huffed, “Snuggly! I do not snuggle, John!” 

I laughed, “You’re snuggling right this minute, my love.”

Sherlock made a small growl of indignation in his throat, “That is not what this is!”

That only made me giggle harder, “Would you rather I said cuddle? Anyway, boyfriend duties.”

Sherlock made a long-suffering sigh, “I suppose I can snuggle for the sake of proper boyfriending.”

“Such a good sport.” I kissed him, “Well sweetheart, my arm’s gone to sleep under you. Shall we get up?”

Sherlock sat up and yawned and stretched rather theatrically, “We may as well, since you’ve gone all cheeky.” He cocked his head over his shoulder to look at me, “That isn’t how pillow talk is done, is it?”

I sat up, grinning, “Debatable.” 

“Hmph. Well. We’ll table that for the time being.” Sherlock slithered out of bed and reached for his dressing gown, “I’m going to go and have a shower. Put the coffee on, will you?” 

“Yes, your majesty.” 

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand on his way into the bathroom, “I’ve just invited you to be bossy not five minutes ago, John. It isn’t my fault you couldn’t think of anything.”

“Well,” I called after him, “I’ve got the whole of the time I’m cooking your breakfast to invent something, haven’t I?”

Sherlock peeped back round the door and winked at me, “You certainly have.” 

…

Sherlock joined me in the kitchen just as I was pouring myself a cup of coffee. He pinched it, then grimaced after tasting it and pushed it back to me, “I see they’ve made milk more disgusting since the last time this happened.” 

“How can you hate milk? You take milk in tea!” 

Sherlock tossed his damp head, flicking me with shower water, “Totally different. Where’s mine?” 

I brushed water out of my eyes, “Still in the pot, you tit. Hand us a mug.” 

Sherlock got the mug down and set it on the worktop next to the coffee pot. “Two sugars,” he reminded me unnecessarily. “And not-”

“Not stirred,” I finished, pouring his cup and spooning in sugar. “I know.”

“Well nobody ever remembers that bit,” Sherlock sipped his coffee and made a little aah of satisfaction. 

“You’ve told me about a thousand times,” I said. “I’m not stupid. Anyway.” I shrugged, “I know you.” 

Sherlock dropped his eyes to his mug and made the sweetest little smile, “Yes, of course. So you do.” He sipped again, and I rather had the impression it was to hide his face. I wanted to hide mine as well. Or hug him. Both. He’d needed me for so long, and I was only just getting to be properly at hand. Sherlock cleared his throat, “You never did tell me what you think.”

I cleared mine as well, “What I think of what?”

“In the bedroom, you said ‘You know what I think?’ and then you never told me. But I suspect I’d quite like to know. If you’re still in the mood to tell.”

“Oh right. Erm.” I swirled my cup like a tea leaf reader. “Er. Okay. I was thinking. I was thinking how. A year ago. A month ago even, almost. Six weeks ago anyway. I would have told you that. The best of my life was behind me.” I looked up into Sherlock’s face, and he nodded encouragement. “But er. I was wrong, wasn’t I? I think. I think you and me are erm. We’re just now getting to the good old days, yeah? Only just now.”

Sherlock’s smile sweetened even more. He nodded avidly, “Yes, John, yes. I know just what you mean. The good old days are in front of us, yes. Just so.” 

“Yeah erm. We.” I coughed. “You’re. You make me. I just. Since I met you, I’ve been. You. Jesus, I can’t get a sentence out!” 

Sherlock bent and kissed me, “We understand each other, John. I feel the same.”

I nodded, “Thank you. Erm.” I raised my mug, “To the very best of times, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock blinked. His lip quivered the tiniest bit, but he raised his mug as well and tapped it to mine. When he answered me, his voice was steady, “To the very best of times, John.”


End file.
